


Two

by Venstar



Series: Meaningless Scars [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 07:10:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15137870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: It wasn't his fault.





	Two

**Author's Note:**

> nothing is beta'd. sorry opal. NOTHING. I'm writing these too fast and on the spot daily.

All the rational and logical thinking in the world wouldn’t stop the whirlwind that was Q’s mind. He knew in the depths of his heart, that he kept locked away in this world of spies and lies, that he and he alone was NOT responsible for everything that happened to the agents he and the branch he was head of, outfitted for each mission. He was NOT. But at every tiny unraveling of a mission, where it wasn’t until after it had all burned down and been shot to hell, he had seen something. Something that could have helped, if he’d have been faster, thought ahead, seen more. He was only human, and so were his minions, as Tanner repeatedly told him.

It wasn’t his responsibility.

It wasn’t his prime directive.

It wasn’t his fault.

That didn’t mean that each and every time he heard an agent scream, gasp, or when the sound of their breathing stopped altogether, he was okay. He was most certainly not okay. It was worse when he knew the agent in question, beyond a hurried equipment handoff and a cheeky wink.

The former 001 had been quite the gentleman, holding the doors open for the minions as they scurried about, pulling a chair out for a pregnant minion who was now out on maternity leave. He even helped move the servers one day when he was home on psyche leave. He’d been covered in dust, with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Q would never forget the look on his minions face when he sat down cross legged on the floor with them to eat the dozen pizzas Q had ordered for a job well done. The new 001, was younger, rarely spoke outside of what was necessary and brought most of his equipment back.

All agents were replaceable, or so Management kept everyone believing. When one agent didn’t come back, M had to be ready to replace them with another. Same number, different face.

The current 007, James Bond, was a recent replacement himself, only 6 years into the job of a double oh. He could be replaced at any moment, it was perhaps a miracle that he’d survived this long, as he rarely looked out for his own safety and that was something that Q should have remembered…always. 

007 was one of the agents Q had tried to give a very wide berth to in the beginning of his hasty promotion at the start of the Skyfall incident. He’d given the large, creaking, much heralded flagship of a floating armada plenty of space.

Q took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. One attempt on his life later and here he was, surrounded by sterile white walls and beeping monitors. The calloused hands of a killer, lying still and peaceful on scratchy sheets washed with cheap laundry soap. It was wrong, so very wrong to see him still like this. Q gently touched the tips of Bond’s fingers. They were pink now, gone was the paleness from so much blood loss.

“Q?”

Q sighed and turned to face Moneypenny. He’s surprised he hadn’t heard her approach, what with her sharp stilettos of death, that should have beat an intimidating rhythm as she neared. “Yes, Moneypenny, what is it?”

“M said to see you home.” Moneypenny gave him a small wincing smile. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know it’s not my fault Moneypenny,” Q hissed in the quiet. “I know it, yet…here we are!” Q waved his hands weakly over 007’s bed.

“Q don’t-” Moneypenny, bless her had tried again.

“No! You don’t.” Q vehemently cut her off, before she could go any further and give hims some sort of bullshit reason not to blame himself. “He HATES escort duty. I know that and you know that! It’s boring and tedious and there are several other agents that don’t mind making small talk and stuffing their faces with questionable hors d'oeuvres, but were they sent? No. He’d pissed M off and I needed a security escort to this thing and M assigned him. It’s M’s fault. M should be the one here holding his hand!”

Q jumped in shock as a coughing laugh came from Bond’s hospital bed. He turned wide eyes to see Bond trying to hold back his laughter. 

“Oh, ow. Oh, it hurts. Don’t make me laugh.” Bond coughed out through a dry throat. “M hold my hand. Oh…oh…ow.”

“Ah, sleeping beauty awakes.” Moneypenny laughed, from her position in the doorway.

“I hate you.” Bond grumbled, eyes narrowing at his new target.

“You’ll have a gorgeous scar to add to your collection. Matching bullet wounds. Mine’s prettier.” Moneypenny smirked before she turned to motion to the nurses station. “Well, they know he’s up now.”

“You could have given him some time before the vultures descended on him again.” Q grumbled, he fumbled around with the straw of the cup on the hospital night stand. “Drink, you menace.”

“Well, he hates escort duty, but he hates medical more. This’ll teach him to get shot in the middle of a boring security conference.” Moneypenny grinned and waggled her fingers at them. “I’m off then, now that the old boy is awake.”

“Why you-” Bond coughed out, but he was interrupted by the bevy of nursing staff that piled through the doorway to focus one hundred percent of their attention on him.

Q stepped back just a half step, but his little finger was still hooked over Bond’s little finger. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say a word.


End file.
